#dolcesuono

there's an interesting power play that often happens between them. though anthony societally holds all of the power in their relationship, when they're in the private of their bed chambers, it's often quite an even split between the two of them. there's a gentle tug of war that both of them whole-heartedly enjoy— well, anthony certainly enjoys it, at the very least. whether or not hetty feels the same remains to be seen. her insistence that he kiss her gives him pause, stopping inches away from her lips when he had already been planning on doing just that. ‘ is that an order, miss hughes? ’ the corners of his mouth curl upwards, his eyes locking with hers to make sure that she knows that his intentions are to tease her in this moment. and it would just be so easy to lean forwards to kiss her. it is, after all, what he wants. but the gratification that comes from drawing it out will only make it far more satisfying in the end. ‘ i hadn't realised that was the game that we were playing this evening. ’

@dolcesuono​​ said:  🗣

lewis could not help but wince a little. he had never made any secret of his abhorrence for the tailor’s shops, and even for those who had not heard his complaints, the general shabbiness and out-of-date nature of his clothing spoke for itself. he could not fathom how the ladies of high society and the stage actors put up with the sheer number of new clothes they were obliged to purchase. as tempted as he was to commiserate on the frustration of fittings, he caught himself with the recollection of barthélemy’s stern reminder on polite conversation, and mechanically replied, “ it suits you well, miss. the... drape is, er... lovely. ”

his meeting finishes up and it's with a decidedly firmer hand than he'd like that he shuts his laptop, but he'll deal with a potentially broken screen later on. for now, she's still singing, he's pretty sure even louder than before, and he has, officially, had enough. grabbing his keys, he heads out of his flat, takes the staircase ( because she only lives one floor below him ) and finds himself outside her door. he knows that he should probably take a moment to calm himself down, but it's with a heavy fist that he knocks on her door, ignoring the doorbell.

he doesn't have to, that much is true. in fact, his life would become a whole lot easier if he stopped rushing to her door every time that he heard of the slightest disturbance. but at this point, it is a compulsion, one that he doesn't think that he could stop bowing to even if he tried with every fibre of his being. he stands there, in her doorway, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to catch his breath, looking at her with barely disguised concern. he'd hide it, usually. he'd pretend that he was above giving a shit about her so as not to add that new dimension to their relationship. ‘ i know, ’ he pants, knuckles whitening as his grip on the door frame tightens. he's not sure if it is because he's stressed out with this situation, or because he's stressed out from trying to keep a tight handle on his emotions. ‘ i am aware of your capabilities. i am...so very aware of your capabilities. and yet i cannot keep myself from feeling as if i need to tend to your every whim. i cannot keep myself from feeling as if i need to be at your beck and call to make sure that your every need is met. ’ the words come out in a rush, as though he had not even wanted to say them.

‘ sorry, i guess i'm just too used to sleeping on my own. ’ he rubs at his eyes, fighting off a yawn, before he belatedly offers her some of the blankets back. ‘ ...you weren't cold, were you? ’ not that it would matter now, when the both of them are awake. she'll no doubt be angling to leave soon and he's not going to keep her here any longer than she wants to be.

there have been times where he's been likened to a golden retriever — mostly due to his temperament and his unfailing positivity in the face of everything that's thrown his way. but the similarity has never been more prevalent than in situations like this one. hetty's fingers card ever so gently through his hair, the action lulling him into a half-asleep state. even with his legs hanging over the arm of the chair where they're just a little bit too long to fit on her sofa, he doesn't think he's ever been more comfortable. ‘ i think i've figured something out about you, ’ he murmurs, surprising himself with his ability to speak, considering he'd been about five seconds away from dropping off. ‘ you must be a witch. there's magic in those fingers. ’ he says it with such unbridled confidence. or at least, as much confidence as a man can muster when he's on the very edge of falling asleep.

‘ …why are you acting like this? ’ he asks, and his voice is thin, lacking the conviction that it had done when he’d been lavishing her with compliments. because she’s bored of you, says that voice again. because you’re too much, just like you always are. it’s getting harder to convince himself that he shouldn’t just walk out of the door and never look back. ‘ have i done something? is that it? ’